He was dying. He knew that he was dying.

He could feel it, creeping along his spine, through muscles going lax. There was too much pain, in the stab wound under his ribs where he was bleeding out onto the concrete. In the constant death of everyone around him. It hit him hard that he was going to be the cause of pain to everyone else now.

It was cold too. Dying felt cold. It might have been the frigid Bludhaven air, or it could have been the loss of blood, but he felt it. The cold edging onto his fingertips. Creeping up his skin in a lazy crawl. the cold, he cold feel it.

His eyelids fluttered, trying to open. So many times had he been stabbed, he wouldn't let this one be his last. His arms strained to pull himself of the concrete. It felt like fire, like someone had injected it into his veins. It didn't have the audacity to be warm, no all he felt was numb.

He wouldn't be the one to bleed out in an ally from a crook with a lucky hit, no one would ever forgive him. He wouldn't forgive himself.

He couldn't breath as he pushed himself to his feet, hand pressed into his side as the warm flow of blood seeped through fingers. His legs shook with the strain and he fell against the ally wall. His head slammed painfully against the concrete, it felt like something cracked. there was bile rising in his throat.

He wasn't going to die here. Not now. Not when the last time he had talked to Bruce he had screamed at him and told him to stay out of his life. Not when Tim had watched him leave the cave with an open mouth and wide eyes, eyes filled with fear. He couldn't leave them when they had nothing of him other than his venomous replies.

He strained to crawl up the wall, hands gripping at the bricks till his knuckles were white with strain. Black spots floated in front of his eyes, head pounding through his skull with renowned vengeance. And then he was falling, falling back onto the stone again without the will to move.

Death wasn't pretty. Death...death is horrible and sad and, its a real shit show. At the time of death your bladder empties, you piss yourself. Your muscles start to relax, your heart stops beating, and your breathing ceases. After that you have the chance to be revived for less than 7 minuets before your brain is dead, and even before that you have major brain damage that will alter your life forever.

All the blood in your body sinks to the bottom, rigor mortis stets in and your muscles swell up. That's when you become another stiff in the body bag, when your body lowers to room temperature and your cells start to die. You decay, rot, your body liquefies and you become nothing more that another pile of bones.

This was his fate. A fate that had fallen on to him, one that he couldn't escape if he tried. He was going to die, he wasn't going to be able to see his hard work pay off. He would never be able to see the eyes of his mentor, of that of his friends.

But somehow, he wasn't scared. He was just....dying.

He didn't believe in a higher power, how could he when aliens had descended from the sky? But all he could hope was that it something other than endless nothingness.

He gasped in pain as he reached a shaky arm to his com, connecting to the bat cave.

"B...?" He croaked out.

"Nightwing?" Bruce questioned back, tone surprised. "What's wrong?"

He closed his eyes for a second, swallowing hard. He tasted blood on his tongue.

"Nothings wrong b..." He struggled to take a breath. "Just wanted to hear your voice."

"Are you alright? You sound hurt." Bruce practically interrogated, nothing would ever get past him.

"Just a paper cut compared to what I've had B, I'm fine." Tears leaked out of the sides of his eyes as his voice cracked. "Is Robin there?"

"Yeah I'm here Wing, and I sounds like more than a paper cut to me." Tim hissed. He grinned.

"Still not worse than stubbing my toe."

"Wing, you said that the last time you got shot." He went quiet for a second, struggling to take another breath.

Ok, maybe he was lying. He was so freaking scared.

"I just wanted to say that I love you guys..." He pursed his lips, his face scrunching up in pain.

"Don't say that, not unless your saying it to my face you hear me." Tim nearly yelled. "What's happening Dick, be honest."

"M' bleeding out." He choked out, hearing a strangled curse over the line. "It's fine."

"That's so freaking far from fine." Tim all but yelled. He could hear a pound on the com. "Well be at your location in 12 minuets."

He couldn't breathe, he was choking on his own breath.

"Don't you dare die Dick." Bruce whispered.

"I'm scared B...." His lips were cold.

"So am I"

"Batman scared? Never....." He closed his eyes.

He heard yells over the line, but never dared to listen. It felt to cold, to slow, numb. He didn't want to go. He didn't want to leave everything. How on earth was he supposed to just leave?

Is this what Jason felt? When he was dying by hand of the Joker? Was he scared?

Just another mistake...

They got there 10 minuets late.